


Childhood Days

by ab7



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Childhood Memories, F/F, there's a surprise at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-31 00:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19038289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab7/pseuds/ab7
Summary: Hope and Lizzie and how all they knew was the Salvatore School





	Childhood Days

From the conception of first looks to the despair of leaving footsteps, the Salvatore School was all Hope and Lizzie knew. 

Hope was a new kid, heartbroken and wounded, after the death of her parents as a young child tainted her soul when she first came to the Salvatore school as a 15-year-old. Her parents’ love and death loomed over her every day, painting her hands in cold sorrow, drowning her baby blues into dark sapphires, always glistening with unwilling tears. Then that constant sadness and weight, laying her heart, vulnerable to the scales of metaphoric death, disappeared when she found Lizzie. A girl filled to the brim with snarky comebacks and the use of overdramatic theatrics but to Hope, Lizzie was the girl that made her heavy heart float. Lizzie was Hope’s tether in the ocean of harsh reality, letting Hope be sad, never questioning her one bit. From the moment Lizzie’s diamond eyes met Hope’s ocean blues, they became twisted and tangled into one another. 

Hope and Lizzie became HopeandLizzie, pinky fingers always hooked in a knot, wound together so tight, not even a slip of paper would be able to slip in. Hope and Lizzie could never be seen without one touching the other. Arms wrapping around each other’s waist, Lizzie's hand in Hope’s back pocket, Hope and Lizzie always pressed against one another when sitting, heads leaning against one another. The sight of Hope casually walking around school in a Salvatore Stallions soccer sweater, the bottom easily falling to the mid of her thighs. Pale hands adorned with rings easily hidden in the too long sleeves, roaming the hall, the faint murmur of footsteps echoing along the empty halls. As Lizzie stood in the soccer fields, kept warm in a paint-speckled jumper, sleeves barely reaching her wrists as she practiced her shots, the loud chatter of her teammates encompassing her entire being. Hope and Lizzie became each other’s safe spot, the only person capable of calming their heated veins and throbbing heads.

When Lizzie would have one of her episodes, without even taking a second breath, Hope was there. Calming her down, placing delicate kisses against Lizzie’s pulsating knuckles, stained bright red and purple and closed quivering eyelids. Calming her raging soul, the warmth of Hope’s hands rubbing up and down Lizzie’s arms in vertical strokes. Swaying Lizzie’s exhausted brain into sleep as she became engulfed in the comfort of Hope’s presence. Lizzie was completely and utterly trusting in Hope’s abilities to keep her safe, and Hope Mikaelson never disappointed. After every episode Lizzie would have, Hope would carry her sleeping self to her room and lay Lizzie down on her bed. Laying her favorite blanket over her, Hope would place three kisses in succession on to Lizzie’s face. A kiss to her forehead, the bridge of her nose and her chin. Hope’s hands radiating warmth against Lizzie’s tear-soaked cheeks as she brushed them away as she slept. An angel, sweeping away her beloved’s tears as she slept on, healing from the despair the days brought along 

Lizzie always returned the favor when she caught Hope in her grasps during every anniversary of her father’s death. Gently tugging a paintbrush drowned in blue paint out of her hands, Lizzie pushing plethoras of paintings away from Hope’s crying body. All depictions of a man’s face, adorned with curly blond hair, bright blue eyes alight with laughter sitting alongside a woman with honey browns and brunette hair; The picture of a happy family as they watched a young girl in the distance, red hair floating along the butterflies as the young girl danced along yellow daisies, matching her baby blue dress. Lizzie rubbed her thumb underneath Hope’s glistening eyes, catching diamonds, colored with deep heartache. 

When Hope’s grieving body laid down to rest, Lizzie would wash all her precious brushes. A slurry of colors rushing down the white porcelain of Hope’s bathroom sink, placing them away in art kits, hidden along the bedroom walls. Cleaning away the pools of paint dropped on the floor, leading down towards the image of anger. Punched in canvases and broken pencils littered the bedroom, the same brown and blue eyes, frozen in happiness, stuck forever in the past painted the ground, in fluttering sheets as Lizzie stacked them all into neat piles. Placing the torn sketchbooks and worn down charcoals in their designated drawer, organizing the room into the usual sight, hiding away the sorrow Hope wanted to keep away from the public eye. In case Josie decided to barge in the next day, dragging Hope along to intermingle with her friend group, not a single clue about the sadness that panged her heart. 

Hope’s bedroom was the epitome of HopeandLizzie. It has Lizzie everywhere, from a forgotten soccer jersey laid over the desk chair, to Hope’s mini fridge upper shelf stacked to the brim with Lizzie’s favorite brand of water. Photographs of Lizzie’s smile and Hope’s faint freckles, tacked onto the walls, accompanied by drawings of Lizzie in every single angle, in every single drawing supply available, littered the bedroom walls. Coloring the otherwise plain soft yellow walls, in tones of childhood memories, cloaking dents and bends in the walls from Hope’s punches and Lizzie’s anger filled kicks. Hope’s open closet would be missing several sweaters on the daily, all taken from her section of paint-stained jumpers. The smell of Lizzie’s perfume, prevalent as Hope would scurry around her room, looking for “her” favorite oversized soccer hoodie. 

But this was all in private of course. 

Lizzie was the one to give Hope her physical affections to the ever-wandering eyes of the school. The delicate press of a forehead kiss before every class, a greeting and a goodbye whispered into the skin, but never aloud. The warmth of a hug, radiating throughout Hope, and Lizzie only departing once the school bells shrilled in both their ears. Hope’s eyes following Lizzie’s figure as she walked to the other side of the school, eyes soft and warm, the sides of her lips quirk in a miniscule smile. Hope’s face turning back down to its ever-present cold features as soon as she felt eyes bore holes into her. The press of a forehead between Hope’s shoulders, a constant feeling, as Hope grabbed Lizzie’s hands to rest both them both on her stomach idly listening to Dr. Salzman's fiftieth lecture on the safeties of alcohol limitations and partying in the woods. Focusing more on the sound of Lizzie’s breaths and the stability Hope took from Lizzie’s head pressed against her. 

In the single only class that Hope and Lizzie had together, the desk in the back of the class, drowned in sunlight was their haven. Hope’s attention would be lost when Lizzie grabbed her right hand and began to play with her fingers. Her mind fuzzing in and out, like a broken tv signal as Lizzie began a symphony of random notes across her palm. The monotone drone of the English teacher’s croon becoming background noise in her mind. The only thing in focus in Hope’s mind was Lizzie. Lizzie’s sunbeam locks tickling her shoulder and the feeling of her soft fingertips dancing across her forearms left Hope drowning in warmth and affection. The desk table’s surface otherwise perfect, except for a small heart, the size of a quarter, a painstakingly carved H&L in the center. Hope’s brain flooding in memories as she saw the heart, remembering the feeling of mischief as she saw Lizzie’s shocked eyes when she whipped out her small butterfly knife, attention disappearing from Lizzie’s face as her tongue stuck out as she wiped away wood chips from the table. Unknowing of Lizzie’s soft smile, only conscious of Lizzie continuing to rub comforting circles and untraceable patterns into Hope’s back. 

The sight of pink cherry blossom petals laid imprinted on Lizzie’s cheeks and her baby hairs flying in disarray with the wind was carved into Hope’s mind, as Lizzie found her in art class. Sticky with sweat after winning an away soccer game against Mystic Falls High. Lizzie cradled Hope’s face in her hands, lips pulled back in a smile as bright as the moon, diamond blues shining, glinting along with the sunlight. The sheer delight shown in Lizzie’s face caused a Pavlov reaction in Hope, as her own lips quirked up in a small smile, relaying to Lizzie that she was proud of her. The sight of them, lost in each other, left a lasting impression on the rest of the awkward art class. Hope’s paint-stained hands left smears on Lizzie’s yellow jersey, as she lifted her up and twirled her around. The echo of Lizzie’s laugh fell in tandem with Hope’s heartbeat that day, as they floated in joy in that uneventful art class. 

Lizzie’s hands would encircle Hope’s waist, resting right on her rib cage, to feel Hope take in each breath, lungs expanding, causing her chest to rise along, with each intake. Her chin resting on top of Hope’s shoulder as her tall form bent down, not minding the ache in her back, as long as she was pressed next to Hope. The sounds of her MG and Josie’s conversation about trying to woo Penelope Park grew silent as Lizzie whispered into Hope’s ear. The soft murmur of Hope’s answer lingered in the air as the two had their own private conversation, wondering and reassuring each other that they were both okay. Hope’s hands coming up to rest upon Lizzie’s and squeezed as they both snapped out of their bubble to the sound of Josie yelling their names. Eyes snapping up to the sight of Josie with a raised eyebrow, standing across the schoolyard, MG lingering behind her. Pale cheeks flooding with a rosy hue as Hope dragged Lizzie along to catch up to Josie. Hands clasped together, never leaving each other’s grip.

But that was all chased away and Hope’s heart once began to ache and tear along the seams all over again. Pale hands, tattooed with black and blue splotches, gripped yellow jersey and soccer sweaters, clawing against the drowning silence of a dark room. The sheer sound of soft electronic music hammered at Hope’s eardrums, engulfing her entire being in anger and she broke all the CDs and records mixed along with her own collection of jazz. Head pounding for days as Hope chugged bottles along bottles of alcohol, swept away in a drunken daze, the only reason why she was able to smile. Her dreams laid littered with sun blonde hair and those beautiful eyes. Those glittering diamonds eyes, exact twins to her own father’s. The only ones able to decrease the ginormous weight on her heart, vanishing in thin air. Hope would look around, run, sprinting around in the darkness, her throat growing raw as she screamed and screamed for days into the void, looking, seeking for an answer, but got nothing in return 

Hope would wake in the dark of the night, tears carving swollen paths along her cheeks, as she brushed off the mountains of drawing away from her legs. Her hands leaving black stains on her comforter as she dressed in too long of sweaters and stared outside of her window. Her eyes always trained on a small headstone, adorned with handpicked roses and daisies. Those same flowers held in a small vase on Hope’s desk, drooping, faces parallel to the ground as petals littered the surface. Lizzie would have a fit about the condition of Hope’s room. But Hope couldn’t care less, because she was once again left alone, with her heart, vulnerable to the scales of metaphoric death. 

Painting name: Sad baby blues drowned in sorrow, smeared with black fingerprints, dressed in a paint-stained, too large yellow soccer jersey.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic of any sorts. please leave down what was your favorite part!  
> come yell at me on twitter. ((:


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